


Blood-soaked Flower Petals

by orphan_account



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cameo Makkachin, Cameo Yakov, Cameo Yurio, Cameo chris, Hanahaki Disease, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 22:50:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10055414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: There's always a part of you that dies when someone you would drag the Sun by hand to wouldn't do the same.Maybe it's the heart.Maybe the soul.Maybe it's your throat and lungs, since there are these pesky flowers in there, and that's a pretty strong indication.It's even better that his are his signature blue roses. You know, the ones that symbolize his legendary career. Now, they also symbolize that Katsuki Yuuri is an impossible dream.It's kind of pathetic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yooooo, guys i'm so sorry but I had to. I just learned about this diesese and it got out of hand, so I continued vomiting this monstrosity out in less than an hour. I didn't even do spell checks, dammit. Anyways, enjoy? I guess?

Viktor;

 

So there he was, in the dark corner behind the Ice Castle where the cherry blossoms fell and where he was sure he was alone, coughing up blue roses and trying to just _breathe._ Just breathe, cough all these forsaken blue petals that mocked him when they fell on the ground, and come back before anyone notices he’s here.

 

The blue petals clump together as they fall to the pavement. How funny is it that the very same roses that symbolise his legendary career are the ones that slowly kill him in mind and body?

 

He manages a dry chuckle between flowers. The irony.

 

 

Yuuri;

 

Oh it hurts. It hurts _so much_ , and it’s like one of Yuuri’s panic attacks, because he can’t breathe but only _worse_ , because the anxiety is only in his head and this is _real._ These patronizing purple malva petals that seemed to suffocate him, _literally_ , and whispered to him that he wasn’t loved back were real. 

 

“Stupid,” He would say between coughs, “you’re so _stupid,” ._ And his tears rolled down his cheeks while he struggled for his breath. He vomits out the purple flowers into the toilet bowl, to flush away once it’s over. He’s in the ice castle right now, with Viktor out on a coffee run, leaving him the memory of that heart-shaped smile that made Yuuri weak in the knees. 

 

How could he tell his idol, that someone is dying for him?

 

_______

 

 

Viktor:

 

This all started because of the banquet. Because of those beautiful, gorgeous, _sinful_ wild-honey eyes and that soft _soft_ smile. How freaking shallow was he? How pathetic is the great Viktor Nikiforov is that he falls in hopeless love with a stranger, a whirlwind of a stranger? 

 

He retched out more blue petals, the thorns slicing his throat and lips. No, that wasn’t a stranger. That was Katsuki Yuuri, possibly one of the most talented skaters out there. He just hadn’t reached his full potential yet, unlike him. First Viktor become a husk of a legend, with nothing but those useless golden medals that hand around his neck, and now this? 

 

Viktor clasps his throat, gasping for breath as the roses fall in heaps and clump together, the stench of blood and the flowers mixing together sickening. 

 

He kneels, unable to hold his weight any longer, not with the lack of oxygen in his system. 

 

He spits out the last of the waxy leaves and the brambles, the blood splattered on the immaculate wooden floor, with Makkachin whining, scratching the door that traps him in the bedroom. 

 

The phone chimes with a notification, and the deep, gurgled breaths of Viktor drown out the ping. He has to get up. He has to clean the mess, throw out the blooms, and let Makkachin out. Viktor has to pretend nothing happened. No one can know about his stupidity. Not Yakov, not Yuri, not even Chris. 

 

He gets up weakly, clumsily. Certainly not how a figure skater should stand up. He fumbles his way toward the kitchen pantry, where his cleaning supplies are, because he always cleans. He takes the mop and the Pine-Sol, to get rid of the disgusting smell of roses and blood. 

 

Viktor hates this. He hates the fact he’s so weak, so desperate to be loved. As he carries the blooms to the trash, he thinks about how his mother had the same thing, the same thirst for love. 

 

How the giant sunflowers would drop from her mouth, making a mess of the floor, a portrait of sunflowers, blood, and tears. How his mother would cry every night when his father would fall asleep after he had pulled on Viktor’s hair and beat his mother and him till there was more bruises than skin on them.  

 

How his mother still loved her husband, her drunken, angry husband that pulled and ripped at their hair and forced them to clean the house till their hands cracked from the bleach.

 

She died when he was 17. The sunflowers had surronded her that day when Viktor found her. She would have looked like she was sleeping in a field of them if it wasn’t for the blood, the wrong angles her hands bent, her cracked, blistering hands. Her silver hair was caked with dried blood, tangled with neglet and tears. She couldn’t come to the ceremony, and that was the first time she didn’t get to see the gold medal being gifted to him.

 

At 20, he had cut his hair to make his father stop pulling at it, and moved away.

 

He had sworn that he will not love anyone that will not love him back. 

 

Viktor finishes cleaning, and lets Makkachin into the living room. Makka jumps him, trying to bark Viktor’s pain away. He smiles crudely. At least this old girl loves him. He travels to the couch; tired and depressed. He goes through his phone and sees the notification that his coughs have blocked out. 

 

From: Котенок 

 

‘ _Виктор щто за ерунда???’ (link_ _x_ _)_

 

 

 

He clicks the link without responding. 

 

And his heart, for the first time in months, soars.

 

____

  

 

Yuuri:

 

There was no way that Viktor Nikiforov was here. There was no way, no way in the universe that he was _right there_ , soaking in the hot tub and declaring to be his coach. This was some sick dream, and Yuuri will wake up in any minute. He’s going to wake up, and then cry because it was a dream.   

 

But no, he was still here, still sleeping, and Viktor Nikiforov is now winking at him what is happening abort abort ABORT- 

 

Yuuri screams.

 

 

 

_________

 

 

Yuuri:

 

It was after the day at the beach where Yuuri had told Viktor to meet him where he is, he begins to cough up purple flowers. Malvas. And something inside of Yuuri sinks. Because although he _knew_ Viktor didn’t like him like that, didn’t think of him in any way other than a student, this was proof. These tiny flowers that seem to shrivel as soon as the sunlight touches them, are more accurate than if it was on paper that Viktor did not love him. 

 

Yuuri sobs, clenching the purple blooms in his hands until they pulverize into pulps. He’s in love with Viktor. He’s so in love. He loves his smile, his silky, thick silver hair that shone like a sunny winter morning, the way he laughed, his enthusiasm for Katsudon, his willingness to accept Yuuri as he is-,

 

His throat hurts from the flowers and his eyes sting from the tears, but that is nothing compared to the heaviness in his heart and the thoughts in his head that stab at him like daggers. 

 

___

Viktor;

 

He finally understands how his mother felt, in a way. Viktor will willingly die for Yuuri, no doubt. No matter if his lungs fill up with the flowers, and his throut clogs up with the roses, he will not get the surgery needed to save him. He would never want to feel indifferent about his perfectly imperfect Yuuri. How could he? How could someone feel nothing to this walking siren? How could someone see the way his wild-honey colored eyes sparkle in the sun, hear the way Yuuri laughs with the melody of silver bells, watch the way he skates with the music woven into him, and not feel anything? It would be blasphemy. He would rather wither away with this illness than forget what it was like to love Yuuri with all his heart. 

 

He will die for him, because it is worth living for him. 

 

So he hides behind his smile. He pretends that he does want to pin Yuuri up on the wall and kiss him senseless whenever Yuuri does something small like smile at him, and he pretends that he doesn’t want him, doesn’t feel the need to explore and touch his skin, to map out the muscles and stretch marks that makes Yuuri so _Yuuri._ He pretends that blue roses are not killing him.

 

Viktor is not a generally patient or particularly careful man. He is not one that denies himself things he wants. But he sees Yuuri, and he knows that Yuuri must first trust him, must first open up to him.  And he waits, and hopes that the impossible dream that maybe, just maybe, Yuuri will fall in love with him as well.

 

For now, he will bear through these suffocting blue roses that sweetly remind him that he might die.

 

 

Yuuri;

 

As  the tiny purple flowers grow bigger and more painful, he skates harder. Viktor is perfectionist, he learns early on. His eyes are trained on him with intensity, quick to pick up any little mistake that Yuuri may have done. He is swift in handing out critism, sometimes the critique was brutal and harsh. Once, he had flubbed a step sequence rather sadly, and then had cried in the bathroom after hearing what Viktor had to say about it. 

 

However tough Viktor may be, he is also gentle. He flings out compliments and praises as easy as his fans throw him flowers on the rink. It makes him blush and stutter, and make his heart beat faster until it skips a beat.  It makes his chest forget about the weight of the blossoms in his lungs and he feels bouyant. 

 

But then practice is over, and his lungs heave out bushes of flowers out by the minute, blood reeking and clashing with the fragrance of the Malvas. He shudders and is so in pain he doesn’t see Yuuko walk in until she screams. 

 

He hears her screams but he cannot do anything about it, for the flowers are choking him and he can’t _breathe._ He needs air but none is coming and it _hurts._

 

Suddenly Yuuko is next to him, clutching him tightly and whispering trembling words in his ear as he retches, and she stays there until it is over, until it goes away to plague him later. 

 

“It’s okay,” She repeated, more to herself because Yuuri couldn’t really hear her. “It’s going to be okay.”

 

Yuuri doesn’t really believe her, but manages a weak smile. 

 

They are silent for a moment, Yuuri a mess of red and purple. Then she asks, “Viktor?” He nods to confirm her question. 

 

“I should have known. I’m so sorry this is happening to you, Yuuri.” 

 

He nods again, still saying nothing.

 

That night, he stays in Yuuko’s house, unable to see the couging mess that Viktor is in, so close to him, yet so very far.

 

___

 

Viktor:

 

Everything is okay, he tells himself. Yuuri had finally opened up to him, finally comfortable around him, and he couldn’t be happier. Everything is fine, because although he now feels the roses creep up and scratch the bottom of his throat, he will smile for Yuuri. 

 

Everything is okay. Yuuri does not love him back, but it is okay. Yuuri is his student, his friend, so it is okay. 

 

It is the Cup of China, and suddenly it is not okay anymore. He can see Yuuri shivering, closing himself off and cracking under the pressure. Although his best friend Phichit is here to support him, Yuuri is drowning in the weight of the competition. He runs to the bathroom at least three times, and refuses to let Viktor come. 

 

He sees Yuuri breaking and doesn’t know what to do. So when he sees Yuuri stretching and the reporters coming to hound him, Viktor snaps. He drags a confused to the car garage, where he hopes the quiet will settle him, but it doesn’t work. What does he do? 

 

‘Figure skaters have glass hearts’, He thinks. ‘So let’s try to shatter his’

 

It is a cruel thought, but he has nothing else. It was what sent Viktor to glory, when his father had beat him the last time and called him shameful names. His heart shattered, so he picked up the pieces and skated with them. 

 

“Yuuri.” He says, and the thorns claw at his thoat as he speaks. He turns around, and looks at the japanese man. 

 

“If you mess up your free skate, I’ll have no choice but to resign as your coach.”

 

A beat. 

 

Two.

 

The roses dig at his throat, as if punishing him for what he just did. 

 

Then, tears fall from Yuuri’s wild honey eyes, and Viktor’s heart _breaks._

 

But when it seems that Yuuri is opening his mouth to speak, flowers fall out, and Viktor feels like he is

 

 dying.

 

________  

 

Yuuri;

 

The malvas burst forth out of him, leaving him spluttering and wrecked. He cries harder, harder than he ever had, harder than when he had cried at the last year’s Grand Prix, and he feels like he is slowly being killed. The leaves clog his throat and the petals clump together, a sticky mess on the ground. 

 

“Yuuri!” He hears Viktor shout, but he cannot, will not reply. He slumps, coughing and retching out the blooms. 

 

Viktor is panicking. He kneels forward with astonishing speed, and his knees will probably hurt after, but it doesn’t matter, because Yuuri’s heart is shattered. Why is Viktor saying something like that just to hurt him? Is this a test?

 

“Yuuri, oh Yuuri, i’m so sorry, I didn’t mean anything I just said, please forgive me-“ He rambles on, gloved hands traveling everywhere because they don’t know what to do. How could they? Viktor has probably never seen someone cough out flowers before.

 

Yuuri stills says nothing, for his throut is sore and it is agonizing and he sobs, because Viktor does not love him back, and it sucks.

 

It really sucks, because Yuuri loves Viktor so much. 

 

The last few flower petals fall out, and Yuuri is gasping for breath. Viktor is now cradling him, crooning desperately. 

 

“Yuuri, my sweet Yuuri, my solneshka, how could you stand this? I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.” 

 

And Yuuri comes to his senses, because soon Michele is going to skate and he is here, being cradled by his coach, and now Viktor knows he has Hanahaki disease and he had just said he loves him.

 

He scrambles away from Viktor’s embrace. “V-Viktor…” His voice is grainy, like he has not used it for a long time.  “Wh-what?”

 

Viktor smiles sadly. “I love you. Please forgive me for not telling you before, but I thought you didn’t feel the same way.” And, as if perfect timing, Viktor coughs as well, only it is weak and the thorns that cut his lips are smaller than usual and suddenly a perfect, stunning blue rose drops from his mouth and _oh._

 

Oh.

 

“Oh,” Yuuri whispers, and he can feel the bushes of Malvas start to slowly wither away, before he coughs out once more and instead of thick bushy leaves it is one simple beatiful Malva, purple and positively perfect. 

 

They stare at each other, Viktor holding a blue rose, and Yuuri holding a purple malva, and for the first time in months, he could finally _breathe._

**Author's Note:**

> Виктор щто за ерунда???- Viktor what is this crap???
> 
>  
> 
> I wikipedia'd the meaning of flowers so yeah, haha...
> 
> If you guys like this, (which wow??? How???) then please leave a comment and kudos this work! I love hearing from you ;)
> 
> Love ya~ Raven


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